


Honeymooning

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: The Sound of Magic [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Honeymoon, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 07:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18068819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: Zevran and his dear Warden, Sevarra Amell, have finally tied the knot. He's eager to show the person he loves the city that he loves: Antiva City. They go there for their honeymoon.





	Honeymooning

His lips twitched into a smile as he watched her eyes go wide in wonder as their ship pulled into the harbor. Denerim, the crown jewel of Ferelden, easily paled in comparison to the wonder that was Antiva City. Its streets were as familiar to him as the breath in his lungs and the scars on the backs of his hands. It would be fun showing it off to his new wife.

 

Maker’s breath, he was still getting used to that word: wife. He had a wife. He, Zevran Arainai, was a married man. If someone had told him this tale several years ago, that he’d accept a contract on the lives of a pair of Grey Wardens, much less fall in love with and marry one of them, he would not have believed a word of it and slit the storyteller’s throat for good measure. The thump of the gangplank hitting the pier brought him back to the present. They had a honeymoon to start enjoying.

 

He couldn’t help chuckling while they made their way to the inn. His Sevarra kept slowing her pace, looking around with her mouth gaping like that of a fish. More than once, he had to backtrack and find her staring at some statue or other thing that grabbed her interest. For a brief moment, he actually wished they’d brought that damned mabari along; he was always good at herding his mistress when she was being inattentive. Ah well, a small price to pay if it meant they could enjoy their bedtime activities undisturbed. More often than he cared to endure, he’d woken up to the beast using him as a pillow. Dog breath was not his most favorite thing to encounter first thing in the morning.

 

They both sighed in contentment after finding their quarters to be quiet and secure. Before he could say anything, she began frantically unlacing her boots and wriggled out of them. Her leather armor flew over the bed and landed haphazardly on the small desk in the corner. He arched a brow at the Warden who was now just in her smallclothes.

 

“What? I’ve spent the last _four_ days on a ship full of men giving me looks that should’ve gotten them a slapping. It made me nervous to bathe! If you think I’m going to wait a moment longer than necessary to hop into that bath, you’re mad!” she said.

 

He knew that she would not have tolerated the leering looks the other passengers sent her way under normal circumstances, but they’d wanted to remain as unnoticed as possible. Flinging spells around would have sunk that endeavor rather quickly. A mage out in public with no templar minder _always_ drew unwanted attention. A lone mage on a ship filled with common people who were typically frightened of magic would’ve had to learn to swim and quickly. Those ogling men had no idea how fortunate they were to escape retaliation in the form of being frozen to the deck or being blasted overboard. Besides, he’d gotten some petty revenge on the worst offenders. Fish guts in a pair of boots, an ink bottle emptied over another’s fine white linen shirts, and yet another’s trousers mysteriously stuffed into a chamber pot, which was then found and used before the garment could be rescued.

 

She breezed past him and looked behind the ornately carved wooden dressing screen to find an alcove that held the bathtub. Humming and the telltale small splashes of someone getting into water made him drop the bag he was holding and begin frantically unfastening his clothes. A bath _did_ sound nice. May as well share it, no?

 

A warm bath and a nap in a decent bed found them in better spirits. Dressed in what passed for commoner attire by Antivan standards, they made their way out to see what could be found during an early evening in the city. She nearly danced as they walked, finding simple pleasure in making the cottony material of her skirt swish to and fro. He found amusement in watching her hindquarters while she did so. One could forget that she was someone who’d gathered an army to kill an archdemon if they saw her in that moment. A contented happy woman had taken the serious Commander’s place.

 

The marketplace was still packed with vendors and shoppers even as the sun was sinking into the horizon, painting the sky in a wild burst of pinks and golds. From what he could discern, what few odd looks they got were from being a mixed-race couple openly enjoying each other’s company. Good, no signs of any Crows. Even so, he’d taken care to cover his facial tattoos with cosmetics before they’d left their room. Unless he cared to strip, he looked like an ordinary, if quite handsome, elven man sporting a few scars.

 

A giggle drew him from his self-appointed task of scanning the crowd. She pointed to a stall that offered various types of meat roasted on a stick. The proprietor, a balding dwarven man with a beard in a braid that reached past his navel, called out to passers-by, extolling his wares.

 

“It’s a good thing Leliana isn’t here, amor. Nug. On a stick. I don’t think she’d take well to some distant relative of Schmooples being offered up as a snack,” Sevarra said with a smirk.

 

Zevran had to suppress a shudder. The dwarf was selling the bloody things roasted whole on a skewer, complete with their tiny hand-like feet still intact. Who could eat anything that had _hands_?!

 

Fortunately, his amora was merciful and returned with some kind of poultry on a stick. All the same, he checked his skewer for any tiny hands. One could never be too careful. They meandered along while nibbling their food. One man was selling scarves he claimed to be made from fine silk. Another barked about “fine gems” that he suspected were more glass than crystal. He’d stolen a few real gems in his time; what was on display looked nothing like what he knew to be authentic. Not that the vendor would have any real chance of selling to his amora. Aside from those given with heartfelt sentiment, she showed no real interest in gem-encrusted baubles. Books, flowers, and sweets were a more sure path to her heart if gifts were the plan of attack.

 

She stopped dead in her tracks, pointed her nose into the air and gave an appreciative sniff. A twinkle came into her eye as she waded through the crowd toward the scent. He panicked for half a second until he caught sight of her again. He laughed and trotted to catch up. Of course she would make a beeline for that vendor. The smell of sugar and spices grew stronger as he came up behind his wife and wrapped his arms around her waist. A grandmotherly woman who looked as if she’d spent every day of her life in the sun was chattering to a young boy with her in the stall, probably her grandson.

 

“Mijo, how much do we charge for that size bag?” the vendor coached the child.

 

“70 coppers, abuelita.”

 

“And what did this nice lady pay us with?” she asked.

 

“A silver.”

 

“How much change do we owe her, mijo?”

 

The lad squinted one eye while he did the arithmetic in his head. “Uh… 30 coppers?”

 

The vendor nodded proudly. She helped the boy count the change back. Prize now in her hands, Sevarra looked up at him and grinned impishly, offering a candied almond. He playfully nipped at her fingers and took it.

 

They wandered along, the myriad of stalls and carts eventually blurring together. As the streetlamps were lit after sunset, it seemed as though even more people crowded into the market. Here and there, musicians began performing, hats set out to collect what coin passers-by saw fit to offer. A smile crept on to his face as a lute player began a familiar tune. He made a flourishing bow in front of her and held out a hand.

 

“Take my hand,” he grinned.

 

Stowing away her sweets in a pocket, she gently took his hand. Beaming as he rested his other hand on the small of her back, he led them in a dance. It took her a few steps to catch on, but soon more or less matched his pace. By some miracle, they did not bump into any of the many market-goers while they twirled and glided in time to the lute’s melody. As the last note of the tune faded away, they noticed a crowd had drawn near to watch them. She blushed and buried her face in his shoulder while he laughed and drank in the bit of applause their onlookers offered.

 

Twining their fingers together, he led his blushing bride away from the crowd. They zigged and zagged their way around various carts and stalls until finally they’d reached where the marketplace ended and paths to other parts of the city began. Ducking down an alley several blocks later brought him to a familiar place. It’d been a brothel years ago, he still remembered the garish red plush theme the madam had used for the interior. “The Blushing Harlot” was the name she gave her place of business. A pity someone had taken a contract out on her, she’d been a lovely woman, really. He hadn’t taken that contract, some other Crow had. Something about refusing to pay a racketeer protection money had been the official excuse. He knew for a fact that the woman had been particularly protective of her workers. No doubt some insulted customer who’d been tossed out for poor behavior had been the one to hire assassins.

 

A careful search found that the sturdy wrought iron ladder leading to the roof was still there, years later. The Blushing Harlot’s old home was no doubt now storage space or something of that nature. Not that it mattered, what he wanted wasn’t inside the building.

 

“Come, my dear,” he nodded to the ladder. “One of the best views of the city is to be had up this way.”

 

She carefully climbed upwards, curiosity piqued. He followed after a quick glance around to make certain they hadn’t been followed or drawn any interest from strangers. He smiled as he found her looking at the city below them in awe. The old brothel had been on a hill; standing on its roof gave one a lovely view of the harbor and the districts nearby it. Streetlamps and lanterns in shop and tavern windows glowed like a flock of tiny fireflies. The full moon and accompanying sky full of glittering stars were reflected on the deep blue waters of the bay.

 

“It’s beautiful,” she sighed.

 

He cupped her chin and smirked. “That she is, the city. Almost as beautiful as the lovely creature who’s stolen my heart.”

 

She chuckled bashfully and leaned up to steal a kiss.

 

They lingered in the moonlight, seemingly oblivious to anything else for some time until a cool breeze reminded them that they had a warm room at the inn awaiting their return.


End file.
